


do not go gentle

by someawkwardprose



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Audio 011: Broken (Torchwood), Complicated Relationships, Depression, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Drug Addiction, Post-Episode: s01e04 Cyberwoman, Poverty Cycle, Recovery, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someawkwardprose/pseuds/someawkwardprose
Summary: His hands were shaking. Lisa was dead.He fished out his lighter from his coat (the nice peacoat Yvonne had bought him for Christmas, year before last) and opened a window. Lit a fag with trembling fingers. Lisa was dead. They’d killed her, the whole bloody team, and he hated them.Lisa was dead, and he wasn’t.He watched the smoke twist and curl, dancing out of the open window and into the night.***or,Broken,if Ianto Jones hadn't stepped into the Ferret.
Relationships: Glenda Jones & Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Lisa Hallett/Ianto Jones (past)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 125
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: The Year That Never Was Fest





	do not go gentle

**Author's Note:**

> PHEEEW. okay. I have been working on this since October 12th, and it has been _hard_ , yo. actual blood, sweat, and tears. name comes from the dylan thomas poem.
> 
> please, please read the warnings, because this deals with a LOT of stuff about being mentally ill that just isn't pretty. yes, it has a happy(ish) ending, but Ianto is very much Not Doing Well. while this began before the prompts came out, this was written for the [Year That Never Was Fest](https://torchwoodfanfests.tumblr.com/theyearthatneverwas), for the sixth prompt, healing 
> 
> massive shout out to all the hot wimin simp squad, but especially [violet](https://violetmessages.tumblr.com/), for their cheerleading and general support of me every time I wanted to give up and helping me dig myself out of holes I wrote myself into, and all my love and affection to the best beta in the world, [nik](https://princess-of-the-worlds.tumblr.com/), who dragged me out of comma hell kicking and screaming. i love you two so much.
> 
> (edited 01/02/21 - fixed some formatting errors, and added a whole missing word lmao)

_Hiya, love! It’s just me, checking in. You haven’t come round for tea for a little while. I know you must be busy, what with the new job and all, but your old Mum worries about you. Just give me a ring. Love you._

“Those will kill you, you know.” 

Ianto took another drag, flicking the ash over the railing, and watched it disappear into the water. He didn’t turn to look at the captain, but he didn’t need to. Jack simply propped his elbows onto the rail beside Ianto and stared out into the bay. 

He’d given them up once. For Lisa or maybe for himself. She’d said the same thing, back when they had started dating, and Ianto had decided, much like drugs and juvenile delinquency, smoking was part of his old life, when he was just a chav from the estates, not Ianto Jones of Torchwood One. For the first time in his life, he’d had an actual future, and nicotine wasn’t enough of a rush to be worth risking that. And, every time he’d had a craving, Lisa had kissed him. He would have given up a lot more than cigarettes if it meant a snog from Lisa Hallett. 

Then the Battle of Canary Wharf happened, and there didn’t seem to be much point anymore. 

_Just to settle my nerves,_ he’d told her this morning, and she hadn’t responded, too doped up to notice the smell. He would stop when she was better, he told himself. When Lisa was back, and she could kiss him again, he would quit for good.

“Tastes awful, too,” he continued, as if they were having a conversation. “When I’m with someone, I want to taste them, not tobacco.” 

“It’s a good thing you aren’t ‘tasting’ me, then,” Ianto replied, dropping the cigarette and crushing it with the heel of his foot, before finally turning to his boss. “Can I help you, sir?” 

“Can’t a man dream, Ianto?” Jack affected a wounded expression, then abruptly sobered. Ianto would never understand his mercurial moods. He’d never understand Jack, what it was about him that made him so damn _fascinating._ His girlfriend was in agony, locked down the vaults, and Ianto wanted to fist his hands in Jack’s ridiculous coat, and taste _him._ “Your hands were shaking when you made the coffee. I wanted to see how you were.” 

Today was their third anniversary. 

He’d bought the ring months ago, with Yvonne’s prompting. She’d been almost as excited as him, really. Made some off-hand comments about paying for the plane tickets, even though Ianto was earning enough to afford them himself. 

They should have arrived in Paris last night, and they should have been up the Eiffel Tower right now. In a streak of masochism, he’d even brought the ring with him today.

“I’m fine, sir. I’ll be getting back to the archives now,” he said, and turned back to the Plass. 

“It would be alright if you weren’t,” Jack called after him. “It’s only been six months.” 

Ianto didn’t reply, and Jack said nothing else as he walked away. 

* * *

_Jack: You execute her or I’ll execute you both._

It had been Owen who had driven him home. Ianto should have been more curious about it or perhaps worried; of all of them, the doctor would have been the last member of the team he would have expected to give a damn. It was unlikely Owen would kill him though. No, employee termination was a duty Jack took on alone. The dose of Retcon he was going to need administered would probably cause permanent damage to Ianto, and maybe they wanted a medical professional there, but why would they care? 

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Lisa was dead. 

_Christ._ Lisa was _dead._

“Here we are,” Owen murmured as the car stopped outside Ianto’s flat. “That was a pretty nasty landing you took; I’m gonna come up and take a quick look at you, okay?” 

Ianto nodded numbly. He hadn’t bothered to put his seatbelt on when he’d gotten in his car, after Gwen had coaxed him to give up his keys, so he fumbled for the door, trying not to look at his hands. She’d rinsed most of the blood off - Tosh, not Gwen, because Gwen was having a shouting match with their illustrious leader about his treatment of Ianto that even he couldn’t miss - but his fingernails were still rimmed red, and it clung to the lines in his skin. Poetic, almost, because now his hands would never be clean. 

Her name was Annie. She only worked weekends, and she was in her final year at school. Ianto had always tipped her forty percent, because she was the only one at Jubilee’s who came to the right door. 

Lisa killed Annie, killed Doctor Tanizaki. Ianto killed them, because he had tried to save her. 

“Come on, mate,” Owen said as he came around to help Ianto out. “Let’s get you inside.” 

* * *

Owen left him icing his cracked ribs and a bottle of heavy duty painkillers, which Ianto didn’t even look at. He’d clearly been reluctant to leave but couldn’t find any reasonable excuse to stay longer. It was worse, really, with Owen trying to be nice. Ianto would rather take his anger than his pity. 

He put his suit in a black bin bag. He’d have to burn it - if anyone saw the amount of blood -

Stop. Breathe. 

His hands were shaking. Lisa was dead. 

He fished out his lighter from his coat (the nice peacoat Yvonne had bought him for Christmas, year before last) and opened a window. Lit a fag with trembling fingers. Lisa was dead. They’d killed her, the whole bloody team, and he _hated_ them.

Lisa was dead, and he wasn’t. 

He watched the smoke twist and curl, dancing out of the open window and into the night. 

* * *

_Hiya, sweetheart! Just me. Again. Listen, love, I’m getting a little worried. Please just give me a ring. Love you._

The sun was just creeping above the horizon when Jack turned up.

To say the hammering on his door woke him implied that he had slept at all. He’d migrated to the couch, but he didn’t remember when or how. He was still in just his boxers, and the ice pack strapped to his chest had melted at some point, so he tugged at the ties for a moment until his chest was bare again, ignoring another series of sharp raps echoed against the door. For a second, he considered not answering, but the pounding knocks would wake the neighbours, and he really didn’t need that kind of scene today, so he dragged himself to the door and flicked the latch, not bothering to check who it was through the peephole.

Jack’s face was hard, but he seemed calmer than he had back in the Hub. But the threat was gone now, wasn’t it? He was just here to clean up loose ends. 

He didn’t bother asking Jack in. He just left the door open as he turned away and heard the lock engage as Jack’s heavy footsteps followed him into the kitchenette. He poured himself a glass of water for a lack of anything else to do and used the counter to prop him up. Jack didn't say anything, just watched him, something dark lurking in his eyes. 

"I would prefer a bullet to Retcon if I get a say in it, sir," Ianto said finally, putting his glass down. 

Jack started, his brow furrowing for a split second before his face smoothed out. "If I was going to kill you, I would have done it last night." 

"With Retcon, you'd have to take almost five years. The dose might leave me with basic cognitive skills if I'm lucky. My family don't have the money to care for me." 

"I'm not going to Retcon you either, Ianto," Jack said. 

"Torchwood policy -" 

"I am not Yvonne Hartman." 

Ianto snorted. "Yvonne would have noticed immediately. I never could lie to her." 

For a second, the Captain's jaw worked, and Ianto wondered if this would be it, the reminder that he was a Torchwood One lackey. More than that - one of Yvonne's sycophants. He didn't agree with all of her decisions, but he would have followed her anywhere. Had done, when the Cybermen marched the upstairs staff to the conversion room. 

"More secrets?" he finally sighed.

Ianto shrugged. It hadn't mattered what he'd been in London; Jack wouldn't have wanted to hire him even if he had just been a tea boy. Director Hartman's personal assistant was never going to get a look in the door. 

"Not a secret." It wasn't. Jack just hadn't cared to look. 

Yvonne would have, but then, Yvonne was gone. So was Lisa, now. He hoped they were driving each other mad, wherever they were. 

"Not many people can get the better of me," Jack said. "You managed to bring a lot of equipment into my base without anyone noticing. You didn't even register as a threat, and yet you could have been the worst I've ever seen.”

Ianto didn’t acknowledge the pause Jack left. It hadn’t been easy, hiding so much of himself, pretending he wasn’t waking up most nights screaming, pretending he wasn’t keeping secrets bigger than Torchwood itself. It wasn’t easy, but it hadn’t been hard either. Ianto had always been good at disappearing, and Jack only noticed his pretty face and other assets, so he knew to play them up. No one ever thought to look any deeper. 

None of that mattered anymore. Nothing did. 

"It takes a lot to con a conman," Jack finally continued when it became clear Ianto wasn’t going to say anything. "Someone that good? I want that on my team. Working with me, not against me." 

He closed his eyes and breathed. Not Retcon, not termination. "Is that my penance, then? The Torchwood life sentence?" 

Jack laughed without any humour. "Oh, you signed up for that the second you joined One." 

He supposed that was fair. An indefinite purgatory in the bowels of Cardiff. He could do worse.

"A month's suspension without pay," the Captain said. "Two months afterward on probation, then we'll reevaluate." 

Ianto opened his eyes and met Jack's. The Captain looked steadily back at him.

"If you say so, sir," Ianto said finally. He was too tired to care anymore. 

"I do." 

There was nothing else for a long moment before the captain sighed, softening, becoming Jack again. "I can't release any of the converted bodies; they'll have to be incinerated. If you want something done with her ashes -" 

Lisa had been an orphan. She lived off of the insurance payout before Torchwood had seen her potential. They didn’t talk about death much - before Canary Wharf, it had seemed like such a distant thing; after, it had felt like tempting fate. But she had said once that she wanted to be buried in her family plot, if at all possible. 

They had both been afraid of fire after the Battle.

His heart twisted, and he swallowed back bile. It wasn't enough. He managed to lean over the sink before he threw up the water he'd managed and anything else in his stomach, his chest heaving when the dry retches refused to let up. 

Jack's warm hand landed on his bare back, rubbing soothingly, and Ianto wanted to wrench away, scream _this is your fault! you killed her!_ but too much of him was stuck on the realisation, the _ohgodohgodshe'sreallygone._

When the hacking coughs finally eased, he realised he was crying, sucking in air between sobs, like he could fill the hollow space under his sternum with oxygen to make up for his missing heart, and it _hurt._ Hurt that he could breathe, could scream, when Lisa couldn't, because she was _dead_ , and it was his fault. 

"Shh, shhh," Jack murmured, pulling Ianto away from the sink and holding him to his chest.

"Let me go, let me go, you bastard, let me-" he pushed at Jack, but he only pulled Ianto closer, rocking him gently, and Ianto eventually stopped struggling, his legs giving out on him. Jack held him as they slid onto the floor, practically cradling him on his lap, and Ianto _hated_ him, but he couldn't find the air to say it. Couldn't do anything except shake and fall apart. 

"I'm so sorry," Jack whispered into his hairline. "I'm sorry I didn't notice. I'm sorry you had to do that alone." 

"F-fuck you," Ianto spat out, fisting his hands in Jack's coat. "She's - she's-" 

"I know," Jack murmured, still rocking him. "I know." 

* * *

_Ianto, stop being a twat and answer your fucking phone! Mum’s frantic. If you’re dead in a ditch somewhere, I’ll - BEEP._

The first week was a blur.

Jack put listening devices around Ianto’s flat. He’d said, bluntly, that he didn’t trust Ianto to not do something stupid. 

Looking back on it, Ianto only really remembered sleeping. Eating, because after the second day of only having water, Jack had threatened to force feed him - or institutionalise him. Ianto hated him, truly, because Jack was the worst sort of bastard - one who refused to stop caring. He was so _shite_ at it, but even now, numb as he was, he could tell that Jack’s anger was only masking his fear. 

The bruises healed, and eventually, he could move without his ribs screaming. The painkillers Owen had left him sat unused on the coffee table as the deitrius of living began to pile up around him. Jack came and ordered him to shower on the Thursday, forced him to eat a sandwich brought from the deli Ianto ordered team lunches from, and left again with strict orders to start calling Jack at four o’clock every day. He only left his block once. 

* * *

Ianto didn’t drink. He had a bottle of whisky in his flat that he won at the last Torchwood One charity raffle, but he had never touched it. He’d never been much of a drinker, even in his wild days, when his poison of choice had been a lot stronger and a lot less legal. He’d always associated the taste of vodka with the smell on his father’s breath and had seen enough beer bottles and crushed cans littered across his living room when he was child, thank you very much. 

He didn’t drink, but the urge was there. 

He couldn’t do it to himself. He’d always had an addictive personality. It had been hard enough to clean up the first time with Yvonne’s help. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her anymore than he already had.

He walked past the pub without going in. Instead, he stopped at the corner shop on his way home and bought another pack of cigarettes. 

(He made sure he only smoked outside, though. The upstairs neighbour had a newborn.)

* * *

_Hello, love! I’m popping into town today, so I thought I would drop by! I’ll be round after six, so hopefully you’ll have finished work, and we’ll have a catch-up._

Half way through the second week, he had a visitor. 

“Ianto,” she whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth when he answered the door, taking him in. He blinked stupidly at her. 

“Mum,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “I-” 

She dropped her bag and pulled him into a hug, right there on the landing, where any of his neighbours could see. Ianto stiffened for a second before some part of his brain registered the scent of his mother’s perfume, recognised the comfort in her embrace, and it felt like a knife twisting between his ribs, something sharp and painful and filling.

“Mum,” he repeated. “Oh God, Mum.” 

“Oh, love,” she said, pulling away only to reach up and cup his cheek, thumb tracing the bags under his eyes. “You’re really not doing very well at all, are you?” 

He swallowed roughly and shook his head. 

“How about I come in, and we can have a cuppa,” she said, pressing a kiss to his unshaven cheek. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.” 

She fussed and tutted over him, the state of his flat, the emptiness of his cupboards - just some expired milk in the fridge that failed the sniff test and some stale bread. He hadn’t really eaten here _before_ , when he was hiding Lisa - he’d been eating almost every meal off of Torchwood’s dime. And now, he only really ate when Jack came round with something and forced him. 

"I'll do a shopping for you," she said as she bustled back, fingers wrapped around the handles of two mugs, a half-eaten roll of Hobnobs that Ianto didn't even know he had tucked under her arm. "The Tesco's round the corner is twenty-four hours, isn't it? Get you some provisions, until you're feeling better." 

"You don't have to," he said quietly as she handed him his tea. Black, one sugar - she never put two in, no matter how many times he'd told her how he took his tea. "I can-"

"Ianto," she said firmly, and he shut up. "Let me do this, love." 

Ianto nodded mutely, hand wrapping around the mug, fingers underneath the handle rather than using it, the way he'd always held them before Yvonne had told him it made him look unprofessional. The silence wasn't quite awkward, full of secrets and unsaid assurances that he was _fine_ and promises from her that _it gets better._

He was very aware of the fact that Jack would hear anything he said in here. 

"You've been back six months, and you still haven't really unpacked, have you?" she said, pointedly glancing at the pile of boxes labelled _CDs._ "You said you were settling in fine, when you last spoke to me." 

She didn't say _two months ago, when you last answered the phone._

Ianto swallowed, shrugged. 

"Didn't want you to worry," he said awkwardly. 

She sighed. "I'm your mum; I'm meant to worry about you. You told me the therapist said you were fine! If I'd known how bad it was -" 

"It wasn't," he interrupted. "It wasn't that bad until," - he sucked in a breath - "Lisa died." 

She froze. A flicker of grief crossed her face - she'd loved Lisa, thought she'd been a good influence on him - before she visibly clamped down on it. "Oh, sweetheart, come here." 

He put his mug on the coffee table and let her pull him into another hug. This time, he broke immediately, crying into her shoulder. 

"What happened, love?" 

He couldn’t tell her, of course. He couldn’t say, _oh, my boss shot her._ He couldn’t say he failed. 

“She got worse,” he said, because that was the lie he was telling. He’d said Lisa was hurt, was getting treatment after Canary Wharf. No one could visit because Lisa wasn’t comfortable yet, but she’d spoken to Mum over the phone, once or twice on her best days. Mum had thought he was talking about scars or trauma, had tried to convince Lisa she was beautiful anyways - and family besides. It was worse. “I thought - I thought she was getting better. But I was just lying to myself.” 

She didn’t say anything, just held him, and for a moment he wasn’t the six foot tall ex-juvenile delinquent who’d moved to London in an attempt to distance himself from his old life but the scrawny little mummy’s boy he’d been at primary school, crying on her lap because all of the other boys had made fun of his patched up trousers and secondhand shoes. The stakes were higher than playground bullies, but he’d never really gotten any better at navigating life without his mother’s help, no matter how far away he ran. 

“I was going to marry her,” he whispered. 

“I know, love,” she murmured back. “I know.” 

* * *

_Hey. It’s just me. Rhi. Mum said you weren’t doing too good. She told me about Lisa. I’m sorry for the last voicemail. I know things haven’t been great for us recently, but...you know I love you, right? Just...making sure. Call me if you need anything. Bye._

The hollow place in his chest had gotten larger. He wasn’t even hurting. He was just numb. 

Jack placed the wooden box that held the last pieces of Lisa in his hands, and he didn’t feel anything other than empty. 

“What will you do with them?” Jack asked, his voice soft, and it sounded strange, like he was trying to be compassionate but was too out of practice to know how. 

“Scatter her at her family plot,” Ianto said, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s in Salisbury.” 

“Would you...would you like company?”

He stared at Jack, apathy broken through for a moment by sheer incredulity. “If I did,” he said, slowly. “Why in hell's name would I ask you?” 

Jack swallowed, then nodded sharply, turning to leave. He paused before he reached the door. “Just. Don’t go alone, Ianto.” 

Ianto didn’t reply, and Jack left without saying anything else. 

* * *

Tosh sent him a text the next day, a simple _hope you’re okay._ Ianto wished he had it in him to reply, but he couldn’t find the words, so he just turned his phone off. The walls of the flat were too tight, closing in on him, so he grabbed his hoodie and went out. 

It was October, which meant it was cold, but he barely felt it, slipping through the streets and alleys he’d once known like the back of his hand. He’d been back six months, but Cardiff still didn’t feel like home. Home was London and the big, bright flat he’d shared with Lisa, something he’d marvelled about being able to afford when he was twenty-two. Home was the tower, poking his head into Yvonne’s office when she called, finally feeling like he was useful, like he’d found where he’d belonged. 

Home had never been in Cardiff. Home was a pile of rubble and an empty flat he’d sold to pay for Lisa’s treatments. Home was gone, and Ianto wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to make another. 

Without thinking about it, his feet took him down to the Taff, and he stopped on the bridge overlooking the water. Once, when he was sixteen, he’d nearly broken his neck spray painting the side of it. Only Dafydd’s quick reflexes had saved him. 

Dafydd had overdosed two years ago. A too-smart, unmotivated kid with too much time on his hands who ended up on the wrong side of the tracks without anyone to pull him out. If it hadn’t been for Yvonne, for Torchwood, that could have been him. If it hadn’t been for Lisa, what was to say Ianto wouldn’t have taken that route after Canary Wharf, instead of forcing his way into Torchwood Three? 

He took a deep breath and reached for his fags. Dafydd, his father, Lisa, Yvonne. All gone. Lisa and Yvonne had been Torchwood, but Dafydd had never left the estates. Ianto’s father hadn’t made it much further. The only common denominator was Ianto himself. 

He could remember the feeling of Dafydd’s hand, tight around his wrist as he swung. _I’ve got you, mate,_ he’d said, and Ianto had trusted that, trusted him. 

Who had him now? 

* * *

_“I’ll see you on Monday.”_

The Thursday before he went back, he drove to Salisbury alone but went to his Mum’s afterwards. 

She didn’t ask, but she made him a cup of tea and forced a plate of only slightly-burnt lasagne on him that sat in his mouth like wet cardboard and told him stories about Mica and David. The old house was covered in pictures of those two, interspersed with shots of he and Rhiannon at various stages of childhood, which cut off abruptly when Rhiannon entered high school. Even with every trace of his father carefully removed, the house was still haunted by his presence. 

“You said you were going back to work?” 

Ianto dragged himself away from the thought. “Yeah. My boss probably got sick of the shite coffee my colleague makes.” 

His mum tutted at his language. “Don’t say that. You’re essential, you are. You were in London.” 

“Yeah, well, I downgraded when I moved back,” he managed around the lump in his throat. 

“You’ll make it back up the ladder again,” she said. “I know it. I was telling Sheila the other day, my Ianto makes more money a year than her Rachel is ever going to make. You got _headhunted_ for that London job, I told her. You were clever enough that you didn’t need university.” 

The lump grew. He hated lying to her, he always had. But he didn’t know how to tell the truth anymore. He didn’t even know why Yvonne had chosen to give him a chance, why she’d picked him out of all the lowlifes in Cardiff. 

“Thanks, mum,” he mumbled, picking at the food on his plate. 

“Eat up, there’s loads more where that came from. I’ve got some leftovers you can take home and freeze, for days you don’t want to cook.” 

He grimaced internally. Even when he did feel hunger, which was rare nowadays, he’d never wanted to live off his mum’s cooking. He gave her what he hoped passed as a grateful smile. 

“I was thinking, why don’t you come round on Sunday, just for a bit? Rhiannon is bringing the kids over, and Johnny’s making a roast. We could have a nice family dinner; we haven’t had one of them for a bit.” 

Ianto put his fork down. “I don’t think it’s a good idea if I see Johnny right now.”

“Oh, come on, love, Mica barely remembers you-” 

“Mum, I...I really don’t feel up to it.” 

“What about if it was just Rhiannon?” she wheedled. “She’d love to see you.”

That, he knew, was a blatant lie, and she rolled her eyes at his expression. “Please, love. It’s been too long since I’ve had the two of you together.” 

He sighed. “Maybe. I’ll see how I feel.” 

His mum smiled, looking five years younger, and closer to her actual age. Ianto felt like the worst person in the world, because he knew already he would be cancelling. But Rhiannon and he hadn’t managed a civil conversation in over a year, and anything she tried to do right now to ‘help’ him would only make things worse. Their relationship was better at a distance. 

“Great! I’ll give her a ring tonight then,” she said, and started talking about how his cousin Brennan had finally got a job at Safeways. Ianto checked the clock and wondered how long it would be before it was no longer rude to leave. 

* * *

_You always fucking do this. Would it kill you to just make Mum happy for once? For God’s sake, Ianto, she isn’t getting any younger; the least you can do is spend some bloody time pretending you like me for her. Christ. I don’t know why she puts up with you._

He showered, shaved, and put on a suit for the first time in a month. For a second, the man in the hallway mirror almost looked like him, except the suit hung a little loose and the skin under his eyes was dark. It didn’t matter, really. He returned to work

The first day turned into the first week, the first week into two, and he was pretty sure the others had already forgotten he was ever gone. Tosh still made friendship overtures that he cautiously accepted, but the strange tension between Gwen and Owen took up most of their, and her, attention. He could almost melt back into the shadows, if it wasn’t for the way Jack’s eyes would follow him whenever he was in the Hub. 

Ianto spoke to his mother once a week, took long walks around Cardiff when he couldn’t sleep, and bought more cigarettes. He wondered if this was the survival the Captain had planned for him. He still hadn’t removed the listening devices. 

Eventually, shame made him clean up the flat, quietly unpacking his belongings, He sorted out the last boxes of his clothes from London, deciding most could go to charity. The Bond DVD box set Lisa had gotten him for their first anniversary took pride of place on his empty bookshelf. Everything else went in the charity bag. He wondered if Jack was listening, if he thought that Ianto was getting better. 

Lisa’s belongings were boxed away without ceremony. He wasn’t ready to deal with them, yet. 

In tidying up the debris of his suspension, he found the bottle of painkillers Owen had left him. His hand hovered over the bin, but in the end, he put them in his first aid kit. Part of him knew they were a temptation he couldn’t afford, but the fiercely practical part of him knew that, even if he didn’t use them personally, he would no doubt end up cursing his own stupidity in throwing away something so useful just because of his own weaknesses.

Yvonne would be so disappointed in him if he gave in, and he didn’t want to disgrace her memory any more than he already had.

Eventually, it would stop hurting, he knew. One day, he would be able to think of Lisa without the gaping empty space in his chest echoing hollowly. One day he would be able to step foot in London and not think of Louise, of Chris, of Kieran and Ross, of Angela and Adeola. He’d survived his world falling apart once before, and he knew he could do it again. 

He just wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

* * *

“Hi.” 

Ianto blinked. It had been a long day, Retconning the party guests and creating a story to explain Jasmine’s disappearance and the death of her step-father. He’d stopped in Jack’s office before he’d left, but the man had waved him away, an open bottle of Scotch on his desk. 

When he’d heard the chap at the door, he hadn’t expected to see Rhiannon at the other side. If he’d known, he might not have opened it, he thought uncharitably. 

“Hi,” he repeated. “What are you doing here?” 

Rhiannon fidgeted with the strap on her handbag, not looking at him. “You didn’t answer your phone.” 

“Typically, that’s because I don’t want to talk to someone,” he said, then closed his eyes with a sigh. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. Do you want to come in?” 

She nodded, her face resolute.

Five minutes and two cups of coffee later, an awkward silence had descended, and Ianto was too tired to break it. He wanted a fag, but he couldn’t be bothered with Rhiannon’s lecturing if she found out he was smoking again, so he took a sip of his coffee and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach. 

“You look like shit,” Rhiannon said finally. 

“Thanks.” 

She took a deep breath, shaking her head. “I don’t mean it like that. When was the last time you slept?” 

Last night, for five hours, when he’d woken up in a cold sweat dreaming of electronic voices and blood on his hands. The night before he’d barely managed two, before he dragged himself into work for a distraction. He couldn’t say that though, so he just shrugged, and Rhiannon sighed. 

“Was sorry to hear about Lisa. She seemed nice. Mum really liked her.” 

Ianto swallowed. “Y-yeah,” he said, coughing to clear his throat. “She was.” 

The silence stretched. He tapped his fingers awkwardly, wishing he could at least fiddle with his lighter. 

“Christ, I don’t know why I bother,” she muttered, staring out of the window.

“I don’t either,” he finally snapped. “We’ve never been the type to drop in on each other, and I thought we were both happy with that.” 

“I came because I’m your sister, you ungrateful shit.” Rhiannon glared at him. “You haven’t spoken to me since Christmas, and I have to hear from Mum that you’ve moved back to Cardiff.” 

“Oh, here we go,” he said. 

“Shut it, Ianto, I heard about your bloody office being attacked by terrorists on the news, and I have to find out you’re alive by checking the survivors list! Mum was frantic!” 

Only his sister could make something like Canary Wharf all about her. She really brought the worst out in him, he thought, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I was having such a grand time being nearly killed and then in the hospital, I just forgot to call you in all the excitement.” 

“And you’ve been back six months, yet I’ve never seen you, and Mum had to give me the address because you never answer my calls.”

“I’ve been busy,” he told her. “Between my job and - Lisa.” He stumbled over her name but managed to keep going. “I didn’t really want to waste time getting lectured by my big sister.” 

“Oh, I lecture you, do I?” 

Ianto raised an eyebrow, and if looks could kill, he was fairly sure she would have been burying him in her back garden that night. “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t called you, but I haven’t exactly been having a good time of it, lately.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t know. Seeing as you never talk to me.” 

“What do you want me to say, Rhi? That only twenty-seven of us walked out of Canary Wharf? That the engagement ring I bought last year is never going to get used? Give me a fucking break.” 

“Oh, don’t you start, Ianto, because you do this all the bloody time.” Her face was red now, and she got to her feet, pointing at him sharply. “Four years ago, Dad dies and you vanish off the face of the earth for six fucking months; I thought you were dead in a ditch somehwere! And you come back, telling us you’re clean now, and you’ve got a job lined in a fancy office in bloody _London!”_ Rhiannon’s voice rose during her speech, and she’d begun pacing, turning to gesture angrily at him to emphasise her last point.

He groaned, raising his hands in defeat. “I said I was sorry! I thought you would have been happy for me!” 

“That you’d cleaned up? Yeah. That you fucked off and left without a word and only came back for Mum’s birthday and Christmas? Not so much. Mica doesn’t even know who you are - your own niece has seen you maybe three times.” She ran her hand through her hair. “You’d turn up, dressed like some bloody investment banker, acting like you’re better than us now that you’re out of the estates, When you introduced Lisa to me and Mum, it was like you were ashamed of us.” 

“Maybe I am,” Ianto said lowly. “Maybe I’m not fucking proud I grew up in a shithole, Rhiannon. What do you want me to say, ‘hi, meet my sister, she’s worked in Tesco’s her whole life, got pregnant at nineteen and married not long after; she’s great’?” 

He hated himself even as he said it, because it wasn’t shame in Rhiannon, in his family, that made him like this. But she just made him so _angry_ \- 

“Fuck you,” she shouted back, shoving at him. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? You, the ex-junkie who managed to fuck his way to the top? It was all _Yvonne this, Yvonne that;_ did Lisa know you were your boss’ bit on the side?” 

“Don’t you - don’t you dare bring them into this.” He slapped her hands away. “Just because you couldn’t get out of this fucking dump -” 

“Yeah, and look who came right back the minute things got hard,” she said, quieter, but with no less vitriol. “How’d that work out for you?” 

“Get out,” he said. 

“Fine.” She grabbed her handbag. “I don’t know why I fucking try with you.” 

“Me either,” he spat back at her. 

She stopped at the door, turning back to look at him. “I came because Mum asked me to. Because she’s sick, and all she wants is for us to get along,” she said, and laughed darkly. “Can’t even pretend for her though, can we?” 

It felt like she’d punched him in the stomach.

“What do you mean, Mum’s sick?” he demanded, taking a few steps towards her. “What’s wrong with her?”

Rhiannon shut her eyes and shook her head. “She didn’t want me to tell you.”

“Rhiannon-” 

“Breast cancer,” she said finally, looking straight at him. “It’s why she’s been in town so much. She’s been going to the infirmary. She didn’t want to upset you.” 

“She’s okay, right? She’s getting -”

“Look, I don’t really know,” she said. “You know what she’s like. She didn’t even want to tell me herself, but she wants Johnny to pick her up after her first chemo appointment.” 

Ianto had to lean against the wall heavily. “Fuck.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Just.” She exhaled loudly. “Make it easier for her, will you? Worrying about you is the last thing she needs.” 

With that, she left. When the door snapped shut, he knocked his head against the wall. 

Then he remembered that Jack had probably recorded every word of that. 

* * *

_Hello, it's Glenda! I'm away from the phone right now, so leave a message!_

The next day was awkward. When Ianto took him his first coffee of the day, Jack's eyes felt like a brand through his suit jacket as he walked away. But he didn't bring it up, and gradually, Ianto relaxed. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he slipped down to the archives for most of the morning, and since the rest of the team were ignoring Jack for different reasons, it didn’t look too suspicious.

The thing was - he wasn’t ashamed of Rhiannon. He wasn’t even ashamed of himself or who he had been five years ago. He’d been nineteen and angry and hurting and lashing out at the world in an attempt to make it feel as bad as he did. Pot had been a fun thing to do with Dafydd on a Friday night, instead of getting drunk at the park. Then Dafydd had met Tia, and Tia had introduced them to stronger stuff, and it was so _easy._

Yvonne had made it less easy. She had also shown him he could do more, be more. She’d dragged him out of the gutter and put him in a suit and molded him into the man he was and made him _like_ it. Made him look in the mirror and see someone worth respecting. 

Ianto wasn’t ashamed of who he had been, but that wasn’t _him_ , not anymore. 

But Rhiannon couldn’t see that. Rhiannon looked at him and saw him at eleven, hiding in her bedroom because their parents were fighting. The twelve year old who started flinching whenever their father raised his voice, his leg in a cast. She saw the fourteen year old who got into fights, the fifteen year old who got caught nicking co-codamol, the sixteen year old who only stayed in school because Jenny Nichols would be there, the seventeen year old who spiralled off the rails. 

Yvonne had remade him in her image, but Rhiannon could only see the reflection of their father. 

His mum had been proud of him. She’d tried so hard to help him when he was a teen, eventually kicking his father out when she decided he was the problem. She’d loved him, even when he hadn’t made it easy for her, and sometimes he just wanted to shake Rhiannon and point at her, explain. That he was doing it for their mother, so that she could talk about her son without feeling ashamed, without seeing Ifan Jones. 

After half a day of not managing to get anything done, he nipped upstairs and tried to call her again. Once again he got voicemail, and he wondered if this was how his mum felt every time he ignored her calls. 

“Hi, mum,” he said after the tone. “Look, Rhi told me. Please don’t be upset with her, I’m glad she let me know. Just...let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. Lo-” He swallowed, the words getting caught in his throat. “Just call me when you can. Bye.” 

He slipped his mobile back into his pocket just as a large hand dropped onto his shoulder. “Everything alright?” 

Ianto turned to look at Jack, who was wearing his customary smile, but his eyes were dark and assessing. Ianto shrugged, pasting on a bland smile. “Fine, sir.” 

Jack kept looking at him for a moment longer, letting him know that he didn’t believe that for a second, before he let him off the hook, hand sliding off of Ianto’s shoulder back to his side. “Nice day, isn’t it?” 

“Less damp than usual,” Ianto agreed, digging out his cigarettes and lighter. “Do you mind?” 

“Would you stop if I said yes?” Jack asked.

“I would move away so as to not inflict the smoke on you,” he said. 

“Then no, I don’t,” Jack said magnanimously. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

Ianto leaned against the wall of the tourist office as he took a drag, feeling his nerves settle somewhat. “About what, sir?” 

His boss adopted a similarly relaxed position, tucking both of his hands in his pockets with feigned nonchalance. “About a field trip, actually.” 

Ianto quirked an eyebrow. _That_ was unexpected. He wasn’t entirely sure how Jack had intended to address what he undoubtedly heard, but it looked like in keeping with the rest of the day, he was going to ignore the elephant in the room. “I’m not sure I follow, sir.” 

“Disappearances in the Brecon Beacons,” Jack said. “Seems to happen every ten years or so.” Ianto frowned at him, briefly turning his head so he didn’t blow smoke in Jack’s face. 

“The Rift doesn’t stretch that far, does it?” 

Jack shrugged. “It doesn’t, but it’s close enough to be worth checking out. A nice little camping trip should do wonders for team morale.” 

“Someone hasn’t been camping recently,” Ianto murmured, and Jack laughed. 

“Come on, it will be fun!” Jack nudged Ianto’s shoulder with his own. “Weather’s supposed to be fine and everything. If you’re good, you can even share with me and put Owen in with the girls.” 

“I’m coming?” Ianto asked, startled. 

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. 

“...sir? I’m not a field agent,” he reminded him. 

“You won’t have to do much fieldwork,” Jack said, and this time, the companionably nudge was more of a full body lean into Ianto’s personal space. “Owen and Tosh will be doing most of the legwork, and it would be more training for Gwen. You would be mostly an observer, and of course, our general support.” 

“The dogsbody, then,” he murmured. “Nothing new there.” 

“No.” Suddenly, Jack was pressing right into Ianto, pushing away from the wall and stepping in front of Ianto in one smooth movement. He caged Ianto in with his arms, and Ianto could feel the body heat radiating off of Jack. “You’re an integral part of this team, Ianto. We - I - fucked up. You’re one of us. You should have felt safe enough to trust us, trust _me.”_

Jack leaned very close. Eyes darkened with intensity met Ianto’s own, pinning him in place like a butterfly on display, like Jack was cutting Ianto open to see what was inside and had found the giant empty space where his heart once lay. “Being Torchwood, being part of this team, you have to trust me with your life, because that is my job. You’re one of mine, and it is my job to take care of you.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Jack said, his voice low. Then he pulled back. 

Suddenly the spell was broken, and Ianto blinked, confused and shaken. It wasn’t often Jack let the mask slip, but when he did...it was frightening. The depth of feeling running under Jack’s armour, hidden by his easy-going smiles. On days like this, Ianto wondered what would happen if he broke the skin, if Jack would bleed something other than blood. Something that could power a man like Jack Harkness must burn like battery acid. He wondered if he could taste it on Jack’s lips, if he tried. 

For want of anything to do, Ianto took a drag of his cigarette, hoping Jack couldn’t see the minute tremors of his hand. “When do you expect to leave, sir?” 

“Thursday,” Jack said, re-adopting his casual pose, but his eyes never left Ianto’s face. “Rift prediction monitor says that it should be relatively quiet from then till Sunday. Gives us a few days to dig the tents out of storage, and Owen can find a neighbour to water his plants.” 

_Let Gwen find an excuse for her boyfriend,_ he read between the lines. _And you, for your mother._

Ianto should have declined right there, because his mum needed him, even if she would never admit it. What if something happened and he was traipsing across fields in the countryside? 

But escaping from his flat, from the memories, from the resounding emptiness in his own life...that was tempting. 

Eventually, Ianto nodded. 

Jack grinned, an exuberant schoolboy once again, all traces of _the Captain_ wiped clean. “Then I’ll inform the others,” he said, then toned it down, giving Ianto a softer kind of look that made him feel things he resolutely refused to analyse. “You should try calling your mother again.” 

With a nod, he clapped a hand on Ianto’s shoulder, before disappearing back inside. Ianto took a deep breath and dropped his burnt-out fag, crushing it under his heel, aware that he’d barely taken three drags from it. He’d gotten enough of a hit from being around Jack. 

* * *

“A team bonding trip? I like this boss of yours, seems very modern!” 

“Yvonne wouldn’t have been caught dead camping,” Ianto murmured, pouring them both a cup of tea. He appreciated his mother’s old fashioned teapot and strainer. He’d left his own in London, packing only what he and Lisa would really want and need, and he had thought they could pick out new crockery together. He’d never gotten around to doing it himself. 

“Yes, she did look a little bit up her own arse,” his mum said mildly, reminding Ianto of the strange tension there had been between her and Yvonne the one time they’d met. “But Lisa did tell me she liked Brittany.” 

Ianto suppressed a flinch, carrying the mugs over to the kitchen table. “Yeah. Yeah, she did.” 

“Oh, don’t fuss, just give it here,” she said, taking her own off of him. “Honestly, this is why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to get all weird about it.” 

“I’m your son; it’s my job to fuss,” he said.

“And you’ve had enough problems recently,” she said. “Honestly, Rhiannon should know better.” 

“I would rather know than have it be a surprise if something happens, Mum,” he said. “I wish you didn’t try to protect me all the time.” 

“I’m your mum; it’s my job,” she said, deliberately mimicking him. 

He quirked his mouth, but his heart wasn’t into it. “How bad is it?” 

His mother huffed out a long sigh, taking out a biscuit from her tin. “Stage two. Operable. Doctor Simmons thinks I could get a lumpectomy, which means I wouldn’t, you know, need reconstructive surgery. Just radiation therapy afterwards.” 

“That’s - good,” he said, resolutely not thinking about how they were discussing his mother’s breasts. “Do you know how long?” 

“The sooner it happens, the less risk,” she said. “I’m going for my pre-op Friday.” 

“Oh,” he said, thinking quickly. “I could - I could tell Jack I can’t come, take you in-” 

“No, love, go on the trip,” she told him. “You said that girl - what was her name? - has been trying to make friends with you. Maybe this will give you a chance to talk!” 

“I don’t think Toshiko and I are going to be able to talk much; I’m just there in a support capacity,” he reminded her. “Besides, I would rather stay and help you.” 

“Ianto Jones, I’m sick, not invalid, and I don’t need a bloody minder,” she said, crossing her arms. “I’ll be perfectly fine getting my blood pressure checked without you holding my hand the whole time.” 

He raised his hands in surrender, and she narrowed her eyes, before nudging the biscuit tin towards him. “Now, have a couple, you’re looking a little peaky. Some fresh country air might do you some good!"

* * *

_On the news at one...Brynblaidd, a small village in the Brecon Beacons, has been the site of untold horrors...communal cannibalism...a specialist team took down the ringleaders...the entire village is in custody...images may be distressing for some viewers…_

Jack’s arm around his shoulders was the only thing keeping Ianto upright as they staggered into his hallway. 

“Nearly there,” Jack promised, and Ianto bit his lip on a whine, desperate not to seem any more vulnerable than he already was. “Bathroom or bedroom?” 

His bed sounded _fantastic_ right about now, but the floor of the...abattoir had been filthy, and he could still feel their hands all over him, violating him. They didn’t even see him as a _person_ , just as flesh, just little pieces of meat and bone and marrow to be neatly parcelled out and _eaten_ \- 

“Shower. Please,” he asked through gritted teeth. 

“Yeah, okay,” Jack agreed, steering him through the door.

Sunlight streamed cheerily into his bathroom, reflecting off of his mirror and brightening every corner of the room. It felt wrong, somehow, like it should have been dark outside. This was the kind of horror that should only lurk at nightime, not in the middle of the day. 

Jack set him down on the closed toilet seat lid. “I think I’m going to have to help you undress,” he said, eying Ianto critically. “Can you get your arms up at all?” 

“Don’t think so,” Ianto hissed, trying. “Think I’ll need to cut the shirt off.” 

“I’ll go find the scissors,” he said, ducking out the door. Ianto wanted to call him back, to beg him not to leave him alone, but pride wouldn’t let him. 

Fucking Hell. He’d nearly died today. 

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in his throat, and he swallowed it down with a healthy dose of panic as he tried not to hyperventilate. He couldn’t even put his head between his legs, not with the way his ribs felt, and the room swayed even though he was sitting down. They’d held a fucking _cleaver_ to his throat; they were going to _bleed him -_

“Hey, you’re alright, you're safe -” Jack was on his knees beside him, his big hands cupping Ianto’s shoulders, grounding him. “It’s okay. You’re home. You’re safe.” 

Ianto took a deep, shuddering breath. “They were going to-” 

“I know, shh.” Jack pulled him forward, a hand coming up to the back of his head, carding through his bloodied hair but carefully avoiding the goose egg. “You’re alright now; you’re safe.” 

“It wasn’t even - they were human! How can someone -” 

“I know.” Jack’s voice shook. “But we’re out now, okay? Everyone’s safe. You’re safe.” 

“Fuck,” he managed shakily. “I was doing so well.” 

“You’re doing brilliantly,” Jack said, pulling away to look Ianto in the eyes. “You were fantastic out there.” 

“Got caught,” he reminded Jack. “Got myself beaten up. Nearly had my throat cut-” 

“Everyone got caught, including the trained field agents,” Jack pointed out. “Gwen got shot. Tosh told me you helped her escape.” 

“Didn’t do much good.” 

Jack shook his head. “You were so, unbelievably brave. You never should have been in that situation in the first place, and I am so, so sorry.” 

Ianto shuddered in his arms. “It wasn’t your fault they were monsters, sir.” 

“No,” Jack said, and tugged Ianto close again. His lips brushed across Ianto’s forehead. “But I sent you and Tosh off alone.” 

“Jack?” He couldn’t think of a time that he had used Jack’s name, and he wondered if it sounded as odd to Jack as it did to him. But this wasn’t his boss, his Captain - this was Jack, who kept catching Ianto at his lowest points and refused to leave. Maybe it was because it was always _the Captain_ who drove him there.

“Yeah?” 

“I’m already facing my mortality. Don’t make me deal with your guilt complex too.” 

Jack snorted and pulled away. He picked up the sharp kitchen scissors he’d clearly dropped on the floor when he’d spotted Ianto’s meltdown. “Alright. How do you want to do this?” 

“Both shirts,” he said. “I can get my jeans myself, I think.” 

The metal of the blades was like ice against his tender skin, and Jack apologised when he spotted Ianto’s wince but made short work of cutting the cloth. It got a little tense when they reached the neckline, and he knew that his nails were cutting into his palms, but he gave a sharp nod to Jack’s questioning glance, and suddenly both his shirt and t-shirt were on the floor. It still took to Jack setting the scissors on the counter before he relaxed again, before Jack turned to Ianto’s shoes, unlacing the filthy hiking boots and easing his feet out, leaving his socks inside them. He let Jack support him again as he stood up and shimmied out of his jeans and boxers, too hurt and exhausted to care about things like modesty and self-confidence; it wasn’t as though Jack was going to find his broken, beaten body attractive.

“Can you stand in the shower, or do you want me to help?” 

Jack’s eyes were assessing as they looked Ianto over, clinical and dispassionate, although the clench of his jaw betrayed that he still held the protective rage he’d shown earlier, just that he was keeping it in check. 

“Might need help,” Ianto admitted, feeling himself sway as the sleepless night and the events of the day caught up with him.

His boss nodded, carefully depositing Ianto back on the toilet seat before turning the shower on. It took bare moments for Jack to undress, clearly experienced, and Ianto almost wanted to comment but refrained. The arrangement was awkward enough without his mouth digging them into a bigger hole. Thankfully, his boxers stayed on. Ianto did not have enough dignity left to care about his own nudity, but having his assumptions proved about Jack’s general...perfection might have been a bit too much to handle. 

Jack tested the temperature before maneuvering Ianto into the spray. Ianto let him, allowing the water cascade over his battered body, and wondered if it could wash away the horror of the past few hours as easily as the blood and dirt. He flinched when Jack first stepped up behind him, his chest to Ianto’s back, but Jack’s hands were warm and gentle and careful as they ran the soapy washcloth over Ianto’s body, nothing like the harsh fists from the night before. Without really thinking about it, he found himself relaxing into Jack’s body heat, allowing the other man to take most of his weight. Jack didn’t seem to mind, encouraging Ianto to rest his head on his shoulder as he began to work shampoo into his hair, and Ianto found himself dozing off, trusting Jack to take care of him.

If he’d been more awake, perhaps the profound, undeniable intimacy of the act would have embarrassed him. He would probably be mortified in the morning. But for the first time since Tosh and he had separated off from the team, Ianto felt _safe_. 

He should hate Jack. Jack killed Lisa, even if she hadn’t really been Lisa by then. Jack had held a gun to his head and had ordered him to _execute_ the love of his life. Logically, Jack was the greatest threat to Ianto’s wellbeing, even over aliens and insane cannibal cults. 

The only thing crazier than Torchwood was the way that, against all odds, Ianto trusted this man. 

“Hey.” Jack nudged his shoulder. “Let's get you to bed, huh?” 

Ianto blinked his eyes open, blearily focusing on Jack’s soft smile as the water turned off. He was barely coherent as Jack dried him off and wrapped the towel around him and didn’t even realise Jack had left him until he returned with a pair of pyjama bottoms for Ianto to put on. He did, however, notice that Jack had taken the liberty of borrowing his grey joggers and wondered if that meant Jack intended to stay. He hoped so, if only because he dreaded waking up alone when the inevitable nightmares struck. 

Nothing was said as he helped Ianto step into the bottoms or when he guided him out of the bathroom and into his bedroom until he had gotten Ianto settled on the bed and almost tucked in. “You want to take some painkillers now?” 

Ianto shook his head automatically, even though his entire body was throbbing. Owen had sent him home with some of the good stuff from the Hub - the same as he’d offered Ianto after Lisa - but it wasn’t worth it. “Ice pack?” 

Jack pursed his lips. “Ice pack and painkillers.” 

“Sir -” 

“You’re not going to be able to sleep with your ribs like that,” Jack said. 

“I don’t like pills,” he replied, keeping his voice even.

“Good thing they dissolve in water then,” Jack shot back, and left before Ianto could argue. Ianto almost refused when Jack came back, but there was a look in his eyes that told him it would be worse for him if he did, and frankly, Ianto didn’t have the energy to deflect Jack’s questions. Jack had probably put it together, anyway. He didn’t say anything as he situated the ice pack on the worst of the bruising, but there was something on Jack’s face that told Ianto they would come back to it at some point.

It was a little embarrassing to have Jack hold the medicated glass of water for him to drink, but Jack didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed happier than earlier, as if some of his guilt was eased by his ability to look after a member of his team.

“Go to sleep,” Jack murmured as Ianto stirred twenty minutes later, vaguely aware of Jack taking the ice pack away.

_He’s a caretaker at heart,_ Ianto realised, his head fuzzy as Jack tugged the blankets up over his shoulders, but the thought drifted away as he slid into full sleep.

* * *

“Fuck,” Ianto said the moment he swam back to consciousness. He had some vague memories of Jack waking him to ask him questions, but it had still been daylight. It was dark outside now. That didn't mean much in October, but it did mean it was later than he'd hoped. 

“That’s not a reaction I’m used to when someone wakes up next to me,” Jack said mildly.

“What time is it?” he asked, ignoring Jack’s comment. He couldn’t take the time to appreciate how good Jack looked, still shirtless and in Ianto’s joggers, leaning against the headboard and reading a book by the light from the streetlamp outside Ianto’s bedroom window. Nor could he analyse his own reaction to the sight but filed the strange tug in his gut away to think about later. 

“Six o’clock.” Jack put his book down as Ianto tried to pull himself upright, hissing when his ribs protested. “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself.” 

“They broke my mobile; I need to get to the house phone.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed. His whole body _ached._ “Fuck.” 

“Easy.” Suddenly, Jack was a lot closer, climbing around to Ianto’s side of the bed and standing up. “Be careful.” 

“Need-” 

“To get to your phone, yeah,” Jack said agreeably, offering him a hand. “You need to phone your mother, right?” 

Ianto nodded and carefully levered himself off the bed with Jack’s help, breathing through the worst of the pain.

“You need painkillers too. Although you need to eat first.” 

His stomach rebelled at the thought of food, flashing back to the fridge full of body parts. “I don’t think I can eat much, sir,” he admitted, not addressing the first statement.

“Drop the sir, you’re off-duty,” Jack instructed, placing his hands on Ianto’s shoulders. “I’ll cook. Something vegetarian.” 

“I - I don’t really have any food,” he said embarrassedly as Jack helped him into the living room. 

Jack gave him an inscrutable look as he settled him on the couch beside the phone. “Okay. You make your phone call; I’ll go pick something up.”

Ianto watched him pull on one of his own hoodies and take his wallet out of his clothes and head out, uncaring of the fact he looked ridiculous in a tracksuit and his boots. Then again, Ianto had the feeling that shame wasn’t something Jack felt, and with his handsome features, he’d still look good even if he was wearing nothing but a bin bag. He shook his head and tried to focus on dialing the right number, already far too used to his mobile. 

“Hello?” His mum sounded distracted. 

“Hi, Mum,” he said, and winced at the rasping sound coming from his mouth. 

“Ianto, love! Are you alright? I thought you were going to call hours ago!” 

“Yeah, I’m really sorry, I’ve lost my mobile - how did the appointment go?” he asked, hoping to cut off her enquiries before he had to explain anything. 

“Fine, it went fine. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he said. “Everything’s alright.” 

It was of no use, and her clearly escalating worry made her voice rise in pitch. “Don’t lie to me, are you hurt? You sound -” 

“First of all, I’m fine, so please don’t get worked up,” he said, giving in, knowing she wouldn’t give up now. 

“Ianto-” 

Thinking fast, he scrambled for a cover story that would explain his injuries without mentioning cannibal villagers who wanted to tenderise and eat him. “There was a little accident,” he said. “Car crash, when we were on our way back.” 

There was a gasp at the other end of the phone. “Oh my God! Are you alright?” 

“Just a little banged up, got mild concussion,” he said, which was true, even if it was a vast understatement. “I was checked out by paramedics at the scene, but they let me go home.” 

“Do you want me to come over? The next bus is in fifteen minutes; I can-” 

“Mum, I’m fine,” he repeated as the front door opened, and Jack came back in, a Tesco bag hung on his arm. He raised his eyebrows, jerking his chin at the door as if to say he could step out again, but Ianto shook his head. “My boss is staying to keep an eye on me, just in case, but the paramedics said I was fine, honest.” 

He didn’t look at Jack. By the time the paramedic had asked if someone would, Tosh had already asked Jack if she could take a few days off to stay with her family in London, and Owen was going to follow Gwen to the hospital, so it had made sense for Jack to offer. Ianto didn’t want to remember the way his eyes had shot to the captain’s, determinedly not pleading but desperate all the same. Jack had acquiesced easily enough, but Ianto was still ashamed of his own desperation. 

“Hand the phone over,” his mum said, her tone brooking no arguments. 

“What? Mum, don’t be daft.” 

“Let me talk to him,” she demanded again. 

“Mum, no, I’m a grown man,” he tried. “You can ask me whatever it is.” 

“Ianto Gareth Jones,” she began, her voice almost dangerous, before Jack was suddenly beside him, hand outstretched. 

Ianto grimaced. “Please remember this is my employer.” 

“I’m not going to embarrass you, love,” she said, and with great reluctance, he handed the phone over, mouthing _sorry_ at Jack, who just shrugged and gave him his signature smile, dimples and all. 

_Cover?_ he mouthed back. 

_Crash,_ Ianto managed as Jack put the phone to his ear.

“Mrs Jones? Captain Jack Harkness,” Jack said, and his voice oozed charm. “Yes, ma’am. Ianto was sitting in the front, but he’s alright.” 

He couldn’t hear what his mother was saying, but Jack abruptly sobered. “No, ma’am. I was driving and had to swerve to avoid another car. Ianto was quite the hero, helping out his colleague. Toshiko. Yes.” There was another intent silence. 

Ianto had a sinking suspicion that he knew what his mum was thinking, and he felt bile crawl up his throat. Christ knew he had pulled some stunts, but he would _never_ endanger anyone like that, not even at his worst. He’d been clean for five years, for crying out loud. If she’d asked Jack - 

Jack spoke again before Ianto could think about it too hard, smiling easily again. “Yeah, everyone’s alright. Ianto’s probably the worst, but I’m going to stay tonight to check on the concussion. He’s in good hands.” 

Ianto had to raise his eyebrows at that, despite the stone settling heavily in his stomach, and Jack shrugged, unrepentant.

“Thank you, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. He’ll be alright. I promise.” 

Jack said his goodbyes, handing the phone back over to Ianto, free hand going to Ianto’s shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze before bustling back to the kitchenette. Ianto steeled himself. 

“Did you -” 

“I didn’t say anything,” she said. “I just had to check.” 

“I wouldn’t do that!” 

“How am I supposed to know that?” Her voice was rough. “Ianto, all you’ve done since you’ve come back to Cardiff is lie to me!” 

Ianto swallowed. “Because all you do is fuss, Mum.”

“What else am I meant to do? It’s not like you let me help you,” she whispered. 

“I don’t need to be looked after,” he told her, deliberately not looking at Jack. “Not anymore. Listen, the pre-op went fine, right? You’re okay?” 

“Yes, but don’t change the-” 

“Good. I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.” 

He put the phone down before she could reply and scrubbed his hands over his face. _Fuck._

“You alright?” Jack’s voice was carefully neutral. 

“Fine,” he said into his hands, screwing his eyes shut.

“It would be okay, if you weren’t,” Jack said, the almost silent pad of his bare feet on the carpeted floor the only indication that he was coming closer. “It’s been a rough day.”

“I will say nearly being eaten by cannibals is a new one, but it barely reaches the top ten worst things to happen to me,” he said. “The second I start to process anything that’s happened this year I’m going to start screaming until they lock me in Providence Park.” 

A careful hand was laid on his back, rubbing gently, and he could feel the sofa sink as Jack sat down next to him. “I think you’re doing pretty well, all things considered.” 

Ianto laughed darkly. “Haven’t turned to my old coping mechanisms yet, but my mum clearly doesn’t believe me, so that bodes well.” 

“What we do, that would be enough to make anyone look for an escape,” Jack said, the words carefully measured. “The fact that you haven’t gone back to...whatever it was you used to do after the past few months. That says a lot about your character.” 

“Drugs,” Ianto said bluntly. “You can say it. No point dancing around it now.” 

“Okay,” Jack said, his hand not ceasing the slow circles he was making on Ianto’s back. “I had guessed. It was a bit of a surprise at first, I’ll admit, but you’re clean now.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Ianto treated it like one. “I haven’t touched anything since I was nineteen,” he told Jack. “Cigarettes aside. And please don’t ask me to give them up right now because I might just start that screaming.” 

He felt more than saw Jack nod. “We can work on that later,” he said, his voice wry. “Ianto, you’re doing far better than can be expected of you right now, you know that?”

“If you don’t mind, the last thing I need is a pep talk from my boss,” Ianto said, straightening.

“I’m not saying this as your boss,” Jack replied. “I’m saying this as your friend.” 

“Is that what we are?” he asked

Jack took a deep breath. “I would like to be.” 

“I need a fag,” Ianto said abruptly. “No, don’t help me; I need to just. Be alone.”

“Ianto-”

“Please,” he said, and didn’t care that his voice cracked. 

“Alright.” Jack held his hands up in surrender. “Just - leave the door open, so I can hear you shout.” 

Ianto nodded, hobbling over to his coat rack and pulling on his peacoat. It would look ridiculous, but at least his chest was covered, and it always held a lighter and pack of cigarettes, saving him from hunting for them. 

Getting down a flight of stairs with cracked ribs wasn’t as easy as the movies made it seem, but his breath eased and his head stopped spinning by the time he made it to the disused bus stop. The smoke break gave him time to think, although he spotted Jack checking on him from the window. His chest throbbed, and his head ached, but slowly, he managed to unwind the tension from his shoulders. Jack knew, and it wasn’t the end of the world. Tomorrow he would phone his mother and apologise for being so abrupt, maybe send her some flowers. 

He wasn’t dead. Jack wanted to be friends. 

That was something, he figured.

By the time Ianto made it back to his flat, he crashed immediately on the couch. When he woke up, images of body parts stacked in a fridge imprinted behind his eyelids, Jack was gone, leaving a note about Weevil activity beside a pot of vegetable soup. He opened the fridge to find a week’s worth of ingredients for vegetarian meals. The listening devices were gone. 

The extra-strong painkillers Owen had sent him home with were also gone and replaced with plain old ibuprofen. 

Ianto ate a bowl of soup, filled his thermos with another, pulled on a suit as carefully as he could manage, and called a taxi to take him to the Plass. He ignored Jack’s disapproval, nodded to a guilty-looking Toshiko who seemed to be doing the same, and asked if she would like to join him in the conference room to deal with the paperwork backlog, which she accepted gratefully. 

Life went on, and so did they. 

* * *

_Hi, love. I’m sorry about earlier. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just - nevermind. Thank you for the flowers. I love you._

He was hanging over Taff again, clinging onto the concrete of the bridge with his fingernails, the spray can tumbling into the water below. He could maybe survive the fall - it wasn’t that high - but he couldn’t swim, and the river was deep and swollen with November rains. 

_I’ve got you, mate,_ Dafydd said, his hand tight and steady around Ianto’s wrist. _Let go._

When Ianto looked up, Dafydd grinned at him, but it wasn’t Dafydd at all, or at least not anymore. It was a rotting skull, yellowing skin clinging just barely to the bone, worms crawling out of the teeth. Ianto tried to pull away, but the skeletal hand tightened, and suddenly Dafydd was gone, and he was falling, falling, falling- 

Ianto woke with a start.

* * *

If he'd been numb the whole time after Lisa's death, his brush with cannibals had pulled life into uncomfortable focus. He felt oversensitized, every light too bright and every noise too loud, and his skin itched, as though thousands of invisible insects were crawling on him. The empty space in his chest had filled up with thick, gloopy, tar-like anxiety, and every bite of food threatened to choke him, sitting heavy in his stomach. He knew he was getting worse. 

Contrary to popular (Rhiannon's) opinion, Ianto wasn't incapable of self-awareness. He had struggled before, and he knew he would be struggling for the rest of his life. It was a family inheritance. His father hadn't always been the drunken, angry man who haunted the family home; his mother hadn’t always been the attentive, caring woman she was now. Neither of them had been through the hell he’d experienced in the past year. He had expected this.

It didn’t make it easier any easier. 

The bruises healed, but he still walked stiffly, holding himself together with the tattered remains of his self-control. He went home to his cold flat, listened to the dripping tap echo for four hours as he stared at the ceiling, before dragging himself back into work. He pushed the food around on his plate more than he ate it and threw up what he did manage. His fingernails were bitten bloody.

The worst part was - he didn’t know what to do. Before Torchwood, he’d had Dafydd, who had held him together when his world was falling apart. At Torchwood, he’d had Lisa to stave off the emptiness. He’d let Ross distract him with a video game or have Angela’s kids dumped on his lap for a cuddle. He’d had Yvonne, who taught him how to make an armour out of his masks. He’d had Josh, a psychologist for Torchwood One’s ‘Welfare Department.’ But he’d had to climb over Josh’s body to drag Lisa out of the building, and it wasn’t like he could go to a regular therapist for what he’d seen.

His mother watched with careful eyes but held her tongue, and they talked about everything but the important stuff. Tosh came with him when he had to collect lunch, and he put on a smile for her. Owen and Gwen seemed content to forget he was there once again, caught up in their own little world. And Jack - 

Jack was everywhere. Squeezing his shoulder as he stepped past Ianto, following him down to the archives to talk, inviting himself round with groceries, calling Ianto on his rare day off, and sometimes, all he wanted to do was shake him, wanted to scream, _how come you’re always looking but never seem to see?_

He missed Lisa like a lost limb. He took to carrying the engagement ring in his pocket everyday, wrapping his fingers around it to ground himself. 

_Tell someone,_ she would have said. That was her favourite thing - making him _talk_ about it. It helped, or it had, but now - all he could think was _who?_

She was gone. Yvonne was gone. Everyone was dead, except him. 

He was getting tired of outliving the people he loved. 

* * *

_Jack: I reset the coordinates._

_Tosh: Where to?_

_Jack: To the centre of the sun. It shouldn’t be hot. I mean, we sent her there at night and everything._

_Tosh: You killed her._

_Jack: Yes._

Ianto’s hand shook as he unlocked his door. 

Jack seemed to be making a habit of killing his employees’ girlfriends. 

At some point, he’d stopped hating the man. Lisa was dead, and nothing would bring her back. She’d been gone for a while. The monster she’d been at the end - the cyber being that killed Doctor Tanizaki, that had thrown him across the room, that vivisected Annie - that wasn’t Lisa. He hadn’t forgiven him, not exactly, but he’d made his peace with it. 

Tonight had brought it all back. 

Tosh was sobbing and Gwen was staring and Owen was swearing, and Jack, Jack was just _looking,_ like he hadn’t ripped someone else's life apart. Ianto had barely made it to the toilet before he’d thrown up what little he’d managed to eat, but he was certain no one had noticed. He’d left the Hub before Jack could rope him into doing whatever needed to be done to erase Mary’s existence. 

Tosh had betrayed their confidence, but Jack - Jack had been cruel. He hadn’t needed to say it like that. He hadn’t needed to make things worse for her. She was lonely and lost, and Mary had probably been kind and made her feel wanted. 

He sat down on his couch and scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to breathe. 

Would Jack have asked Toshiko to execute her too? Would he have threatened to kill Tosh if Mary hadn’t put a knife to her neck, if Tosh had tried to defend her? 

Could he go to work tomorrow and look Jack in the eye? Could he take a coffee to Tosh and smile sympathetically; would she look at him like he was a kindred spirit? Could he keep acting like there wasn’t a hole in his chest where his heart once lay, pretend that it wasn’t Jack who had put it there? 

He was so tired.

Ianto almost missed the numbness. He hadn’t needed to _think_ , hadn’t needed to rationalise his continued existence. He could go to the Hub and wouldn’t look at the floors that were stained with his girlfriend's blood, wouldn’t look at the hands of a killer and think about how _safe_ they made him feel. 

At some point, he’d taken the ring out of his pocket and was watching the light refract off of the diamond. 

The biggest tragedies always seemed to be preceded by a small joy. Tosh had seemed happier, for all that she also looked lost. His father had made it off the estate for a whole two months before his liver had finally packed in; Ianto had thought, just before it did, that maybe his father would go back to being his Dad. Dafydd had taken a dodgy tab not long after Ianto had asked if he’d wanted to come visit in London, when he and Lisa had talked about giving him a hand up, letting him take their spare room for a few weeks. Lisa had died just after he’d thought he’d found a way to save her. 

For something called life, it seemed to be filled with an awful lot of death. 

He was only twenty-four, but he was so _tired_ of living. He’d crawled his way out of the shithole he’d grown up in on his hands and knees, but where had it gotten him? Living just four miles away from his childhood home, trapped in a job where he was little more than a glorified butler, in a workplace with an average life expectancy lower than that of the Industrial Revolution. Even as support staff, he would be lucky to make thirty; their trip to the Beacons had shown him that. 

What was the point of it all, if it was just going to end in a hail of bullets or Weevil claws or the blade of a cleaver? Maybe some artifact that came through the Rift would get him, or he’d choke on some alien gas, or maybe the cause of death would just be _Jack Harkness_ , written in bold print on his death certificate. 

If you had asked Ianto what he had been doing that evening, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. He had vague memories of smoking, pacing, and staring at the wall blankly. At one point, he’d pulled out the old photo album and looked at pictures of his life in London, all of his friends, _Lisa_ , laughing and alive. He tried to picture her in a church, wearing white - no, blue. She had always wanted to get married in blue and said it was more traditional. 

Yvonne would have insisted on paying for something, maybe the honeymoon. She hadn’t reacted when he’d first told her he was going to ask, but he’d seen the gleam to her eyes, and he knew she had been excited, in her own way. He could just imagine her in the first row, taking a seat next to his mum and Rhiannon, all three of them forcing themselves to be civil. 

Lisa would have looked radiant. He would have been the happiest man on the planet. 

But that was never going to happen now. 

At some point, he must have gone digging for that old whisky bottle, remembering how Adeola had joked when he won it that he was really becoming an old man. Somehow, that meant he’d cracked it open, felt it burn as it went down his throat, suddenly willing to do anything just to _not_ _feel_ , to drown out the bad stuff. 

A voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like his dad said, _l_ _ook at where you’re at now._

He swiped tears off his cheeks, opening the second photo album, one his mum had given him the only time she’d seen his flat in London. A picture of him on Dad’s shoulders, barely more than a tot. Dafydd and him at seven, playing on the swings. Watching _GoldenEye_ at Christmas with Rhiannon, because they’d finally gotten a video player. Mum, smiling while Ianto clambered onto her knee - a photo Rhi had taken, judging by the pudgy finger in the corner. 

Lisa had never understood why he hated Cardiff so much. Wales - Wales was his home. But the city had ground his father into the dirt, and he’d dragged his mother down with him. Visiting Ianto in London would have been the furthest Dafydd had ever travelled. Rhiannon had thought his camping trip in Brittany was fancy, for Christ’s sake. None of them had ever gotten out of the dump they’d been born in. 

And he was here again, alone. 

He threw his glass across the room. For a second, the sound satisfied something deep inside of him, until he remembered the way his mum had cowered against the wall as his father flew into a drunken rage, and he wanted to throw up. 

He couldn’t find his dustpan, so he tried to clear it up with his bare hands, slicing his fingers with his clumsy movement. “First aid kit, Jones,” he muttered to himself, trying to stay steady, binning the broken shards. “Come on, you stupid fuck.” 

_Bathroom counter_ , he remembered, stumbling back towards the hall, using a hand to steady himself against the wall. The smudged blood was stark on the plain white walls, even in the dark of the room. He hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, looking at his photographs by the light of the street lamps outside. 

Soon, daylight would creep over the horizon. He would have to get ready for work. Ianto snorted. He wasn’t going to do shit, not today. Jack could find someone else to clean up his messes.

When he opened the box, he paused. 

Innocently tucked in amongst the disinfectant and bandages was the bottle of extra-strength painkillers Owen had left him after Lisa. 

* * *

He didn’t remember taking the bottle out or heading back to the living room. He didn’t remember sitting on the couch or opening the safety cap. 

* * *

He took another swig of whisky and came to a decision. 

* * *

“Harkness.”

“Jack,” Ianto managed, far steadier than he felt.

It seemed like Jack could hear something else in his voice though. “Ianto? What’s up?” 

“I think I’m about to do something stupid,” he said, and took a deep, shuddering breath. He was sitting on the floor, head bowed between his legs, the pills scattered around him when he’d shoved them away. He closed his eyes. “I - Jack -” 

“Where are you?” Jack demanded, and in the background, Ianto could hear the sound of rustling, keys jangling. 

Ianto swallowed, his throat aching. “I don’t - I only took one. Maybe two. I need to get them away.” 

“Ianto, _where -_ ” 

“Home,” he said. “I’m at home. Please just get them away.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll get rid of them, I promise.” The sound of Jack’s boots on the metal steps echoed through the phone, his footsteps fast but measured. “What did you take, Ianto? I need you to be honest; do I need to phone an ambulance?” 

“Just - Owen’s painkillers. Didn’t take many, realised - oh God.” He’s panicking now, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Drank too much. Wasn’t thinking. Oh Jesus fuck-” 

“But I took - never mind. Can you breathe for me? Listen to me, I want you to hold your breath, thirty seconds. I can count; just take a deep breath and hold it. Are you listening?” Ianto _tried_ , tried to focus on what Jack was telling him, tried to listen to the words, but his voice seemed very far away, and Ianto’s world was narrowing down to the feeling of his fingernails biting into his palms. 

“Ianto! Listen to me!” Jack - no, the Captain, this was the Captain, not Jack, and Ianto had to listen, an almost Pavlovian response to hearing his voice - demanded. “Hold your breath. Now.” 

Ianto took a gasping breath, nodding even though Jack couldn’t see him. Jack began to count, slow and steady, and the SUV engine was running before Ianto heard the door slam shut. “That’s it. You can take a breath now. Good boy,” he added approvingly as Ianto’s breathing regularised.

“I want you to talk to me; can you do that? I’m coming over, I’ll be ten minutes, and I need you to keep talking to me,” Jack said, his voice gentling. “Ianto? Ianto, are you there?” 

“Yes. Sorry.” 

“Talk to me,” Jack repeated. 

“About what?” 

“Anything. What’s happening? What files have you archived recently? Come on, what’s going through that complicated mind of yours?” 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s - loud.” 

“What’s loud?” 

Ianto tipped his head back, resting against the couch. “Everything. I’m tired, Jack.” 

“You’ve had a rough time recently,” Jack acknowledged. 

“Feels like I’ve been having a rough time my whole life,” Ianto said, staring at the ceiling. There were water marks he hadn’t noticed before. 

“Have.” Jack took a deep breath, like he was gearing up to something. “Have you tried to hurt yourself before?” 

Ianto snorted, then laughed, lowly and without humour. “Maybe.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Don’t remember. Lost a couple of weeks when I was nineteen. Been fucking myself up for long enough before then.” 

“Okay,” Jack said calmly, even as Ianto heard the engine rev in the background. “I’m four minutes away. Keep talking to me. Tell me something I don’t know.” 

He closed his eyes. “There’s probably a lot you don’t know. A lot you do. You have a lot of secrets.” 

“Something about you,” Jack said, ignoring his last statement. “You’re a mystery, Ianto Jones.” 

“I’m really not.” 

“Come on,” his boss coaxed, even as Ianto heard the squeal of tires outside his block. “Something I would never guess about you. Those suits hide more than a fantastic body, I bet.” 

“Jack…” 

“Something you’re proud of,” he insisted. “There’s lots, I bet.” 

Ianto opened his eyes as he tried to think, his chest aching. There wasn’t much, really. He had been proud of himself, back in London; he’d been the best PA in Torchwood and privy to more of Yvonne’s secrets than even Yvonne would have been comfortable with. He had convinced the most beautiful woman in the world that he was worth going out with. He’d taught himself most of an Archival Studies masters course with the help of the research department. But now he was the teaboy for a group of maladjusted neurotics in the Cardiff sewers. 

“There’s really not a lot,” he said finally, and Jack’s footsteps echoed as the man pounded up the stairwell. Then his door slammed open, and Jack was striding in.

“Then we’re going to have to fix that, aren’t we?” Jack said, and a tiny voice in the back of Ianto’s head said, _e_ _verything is going to be okay now._

* * *

Jack stayed for a day that blurred in Ianto’s memory, just vague impressions of tactile comfort and words that didn’t stop, even when he drifted off. He remembered Jack forcing him to drink water and fingers in his hair at one point, although that might have been a dream. 

The next morning, he woke up to Jack cooking breakfast. Simple scrambled eggs that were just as good as the soup he’d made. He let Ianto eat before pinning him in place with a piercing gaze that reminded him that Jack was a predator. He didn’t, however, feel like prey; he felt instead like he was being seen, properly, for the first time in months.

“You said you had cleaned up, right? You were getting help?” 

Jack’s perpetual smile was missing, his face intent. The silence stretched, cavernous, and Ianto dug his nails into his palms, looking away from Jack and to the smudge of blood he’d left on the wall. He was not a talkative person by nature, and this was a particularly difficult topic, but he owed Jack an explanation.

“There’s a family history of bipolar disorder. Both of my parents,” Ianto began, because this would need context. There were some things he wouldn’t tell Jack - some things that, now Lisa was gone, he would take to his grave - but he could explain this. “It made - my house was not a happy place to grow up in.

“When I was fourteen, I started to get into stuff I shouldn’t have. Acting out for attention at first. Then things at home got worse, and it began to spiral. I was what my therapist described as ‘engaging in destructive behaviours’. Abusing over the counter medication at first, then some other stuff that got progressively worse. By the time I was seventeen, my mum had realised that she was making it worse. She kicked my dad out, got herself help. She’d wanted to help me but, well.” 

She wasn’t in the best place for it, and Rhiannon had a baby to think about. They’d tried, and he loved them for it, but his mum wasn’t the person who could help, and Rhiannon was just as fucked up as he was, only she had a child and a marriage out of it. He took a shaky breath and pulled himself out of the memories.

“When I was eighteen, my dad went missing. Fucked off to London. Mum was on this weird mix of pills, she was really confused, and Rhiannon had a baby, so I went after him. I...lost a chunk of time after that, found myself back in Cardiff. Found out Dad had died at some point, but...I don’t know if I found him,” he managed, shame coating the words. His father had been a bastard, but he hadn’t - he didn’t deserve to die alone. Not like that. 

“Oh, Ianto,” Jack said finally, and Ianto glanced at him. He looked pained, and his hands flexed, like he wanted to reach out. Ianto was glad he didn’t.

“Things got really bad after that,” he recalled, consciously relaxing his hands and laying his hands flat on his thighs. “And then at some point, Yvonne must have found me. She put me in private rehab. Twenty-four/seven care. Hated her at first, but after six weeks, I knew I was getting better. Then she gave me the job at One on the condition I saw a psychologist from the Wellbeing Department, and, well, you know the rest.”

“You knew her before Torchwood, then?” Jack asked, his voice still soft.

“Think so.” 

He could almost _hear_ Jack’s frown. “What do you mean, you think so?” 

“Met her during the weeks I don’t remember,” Ianto admitted, taking a deep breath and turning back to him proper. “She knew me, but I didn’t know her. She said she owed me. Not long after, I found out what Retcon was. I... never wanted to look any deeper. She saved me from myself, and I figured that was a clean slate.” 

Jack visibly restrained himself, his jaw working. “But you were getting help at One?” 

“It was decided, with my history - I didn’t want to go on medication. By the time I started at One, I had weekly sessions with Josh. I’m not - I don’t have the same symptoms as my parents. I have depression, but none of the mania that comes with bipolar. I’m - I am so much better than I was, you have to believe me; I don’t do that anymore -”

“I believe you,” Jack said simply, and this time, didn’t resist the urge to touch him, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders, silencing Ianto’s increasingly agitated attempts to defend himself. “I believe you, and I am so, so proud of you. Thank you for telling me this.” 

Ianto stiffened for a second, but Jack wouldn’t let him pull away, one hand coming up to catch Ianto’s chin, forcing him to meet Jack’s eyes. “I am so unbelievably sorry that you had to go through that. But you made it. That’s all that matters.” 

Tears stung at his eyes, and Ianto closed them so he didn’t cry. Jack seemed to know not to push anymore, tightening his grip and releasing Ianto’s face so he could hide it in Jack’s shoulder. He tried not to think about Jack’s lips pressing against his temple, brushing over his crown, and just melted into his embrace. It felt nice to be held, even if he hated himself; his feelings about Jack were so twisted and confusing, a tangle of knots settled low in his stomach. 

“There are...a few mental health specialists in the know around Cardiff,” Jack said, quietly. “I think you should speak to one of them. I’m not going to force you,” he added, pulling away a little to look at Ianto. “It’s your choice. But I’m going to give you a couple of numbers, and if you do go...just let me know, okay?” 

He bit his lip but nodded, glancing away, and Jack squeezed his shoulder. 

“You’re - _fuck_ , Ianto, you’re so _young,_ ” Jack murmured. “You’ve survived so much. You’re so -” 

The hand on his shoulder suddenly cupped his cheek, and Ianto had one startled second to look into Jack’s eyes, darkened with intent and something Ianto didn’t have a chance to name, before his lips met Ianto’s.

It was a bad idea. A truly terrible choice, considering what Ianto had nearly done earlier. Considering what Jack had done to push Ianto into that place. 

But it was desperate and sweet at once, and his eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in months, Ianto felt his heart beating in his chest. It was scraped raw and bloody, aching with every pulse, but he felt it, and for a few terrible, wonderful moments, Ianto kissed him back. 

“ _Shit_.” Jack pulled back suddenly, his face shuttered. “I shouldn’t - I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Ianto blinked, hands flexing on his lap where they had nearly come up to reach for Jack. “You kissed me.” 

“I really, really shouldn’t have done,” the other man said, and he was moving away, a hand coming up to run through his hair. “Ianto, I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate-” 

“I kissed you back,” Ianto interrupted. 

Jack took a deep breath, and shook his head. “Of course you did, you’re -” 

“An adult,” Ianto said, and swallowed. “I didn’t push you away.”

“It was a bad idea,” Jack said, and Ianto nodded. 

“Yeah,” he said. “But please don’t apologise.” 

“Ianto, I just kissed you after - two days ago you tried to take your own life!” 

Ianto took a deep breath and looked Jack in the eye. “And we can’t do this. I _know_ that. But... I wanted it. Please don’t...take that away from me. That’s the first time I’ve wanted something in months.” 

Jack stared at him for a few seconds, something complicated flashing across his face, a twisted mix of guilt and want, and he glanced away before meeting Ianto’s eyes once more. “We absolutely shouldn’t do this again,” he said, his voice low, and Ianto nodded, but Jack wasn’t done. “But just this once...Ianto, can I kiss you?” 

It was still a terrible idea, and he knew it. But it had been so long since he’d felt something, and Ianto was tired of being alone and feeling either numb or cold, and Jack was deliciously warm and wanted to touch him. And Ianto _wanted._

“Just this once,” he agreed, leaning in to meet Jack halfway. 

* * *

_Uh, hi. My name is Ianto Jones, here to see Dr Evans?_

He couldn’t drive home after the first session, the tremor in his fingers making it impossible to even unlock the door. They hadn’t even discussed much, just some background, how Doctor Evans - _please call me Christine_ \- worked and how she would work with Ianto. It had left him drained and raw all the same, and he dreaded to think how hard later appointments would be. 

He was glad he’d had the foresight to ask for Thursday afternoons off, as much as possible. Maybe the Rift wouldn’t let him have them all, but he had a feeling Jack would do his best to make sure Ianto wasn’t needed for the worst of it. The problem was he didn’t want to be alone right now, and the Hub was the last place he should be. It had been a slow day, but a slow day could turn dangerous very quickly, and Ianto wasn’t in any position to be near deadly weapons. 

Or be near Jack, who he couldn’t even look in the eye. It had been good - great. But it was a mistake, and they both knew it. 

He dug his phone out of his pocket with shaking fingers and hit the speed dial. 

_“Hello, love! I was just thinking about you!”_

Ianto felt his shoulders unclench a little. “Hi, Mum. Are you busy?” 

_“Oh, I just left your Auntie Margaret’s place; you know how she yammers. Why? You want to come over?”_

“I was wondering if you wanted to have a coffee with me in town?” he asked. “There’s a new place, near the central library. I have - something to tell you. A good thing,” he rushed to add. 

_“I would love to! There’s a bus in a few minutes; I can catch it if I sprint! Should be there at quarter to,”_ she said, and there was a smile in her voice. _“See you soon. Love you!”_

“See you,” he said, and hoped she heard the words he couldn’t say.

* * *

By the time she’d arrived, he’d already ordered, a hot chocolate for himself and the caramel monstrosity she always refused to admit she liked for her. _Too fattening_ , she had complained when he was a teenager, but had bought herself once a month, a private indulgence. It reminded her of the good times, she’d said once, when his father had been his dad and his parents had been the definition of romance. He hadn’t gotten it when he’d been an angry, lost seventeen-year-old, couldn’t understand why she’d been so attached to the memory of a ghost, but he thought he got it now. 

He’d received a text from Jack, a simple _are you okay?,_ which he ignored, turning his phone off and offering his mum a smile as she came in. 

“Ianto! Look at you, you look as pale as a ghost!” She started to fuss over him before she’d even removed her wooly hat, scarf, and mittens.

“I’m alright Mum,” he said, shaking his head. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She did as she was told, unwrapping herself as she did but didn’t stop her worried tutting. “Are you sure you’re alright, pet? You said you had good news, but-” 

“I had my first therapy session today,” he cut her off. 

“Oh,” she said, startled. _“Oh._ Sweetheart...how did it...” 

“It went - okay, I think. But it was pretty hard.” 

“Oh, love.” She reached across the table to take his hand. 

“She - Doctor Evans - seems like she’s a good fit. Maybe not as good as the one I had in London,” - because even though she knew about aliens, she couldn’t hear anything vaguely confidential -“but she seems nice. It was just, you know. Introductory stuff.” 

“Are you - do you think you’ll talk about your dad?” 

He shrugged. “Probably. We’ll probably deal with...Lisa and London first.But…” 

His mum nodded. “And does she know about the-” 

“Yes. Yeah, I told her.” 

“Oh, love, I’m so, so proud of you,” she managed, her voice rough, and when he looked up, her eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. “I’ve been so worried, these past few months…” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I haven’t really - been in a good place. Recently. I...” He took a deep breath, because he had enough secrets from his mother, and he couldn’t keep another. “I had a bad night, a week ago. I nearly - hurt myself.” He stumbled over the words, glancing away at the busy cafe interior, filled with people completely disinterested in his life. He wasn’t particularly comfortable admitting it here, but he didn’t want to do it anywhere else either. At least here, he would be forced to keep his cool. 

Her hand was a vice. “Jesus Christ.” 

“I’m okay. Obviously,” he said, forcing himself to look back at her. “I phoned a - friend. He came and helped me out. Talked me down. Pulled some strings to help me find Doctor Evans so fast. It was just a really bad night. I swear. It’s not likely to happen again.” 

His mother was silent for a second, her face a conflicted mess of emotions. “Sweetheart,” she managed, her voice tight as her grip. “Oh, Ianto. Jesus. I didn’t realise-” 

“Nobody did,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realise how bad I was getting. I knew - well, I probably should have tried to get help earlier. I didn’t want to be a burden. But I’m okay. I promise.” 

“Ianto,” she started, her tone a study in contrasts, quavering but firm. “You are never a burden. _Never._ You’re my son.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Mum-” 

“I may not have been the best mother,” she continued, holding her free hand up when he went to protest. “No, I wasn’t. But you - you’re my baby! When I held you both for the first time, I knew I would never love anyone more than you and your sister, and I promised to protect you. I fucked that right up, but goddamnit, I _meant_ that promise. If you ever feel like that again, I don’t care how sick I am, you are my priority. You understand that?” 

He swallowed, nodding. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for. Especially not for being sick, sweetheart.” She pushed back on her chair, letting his hand go,to come around to his side, pulling him up into a tight hug. “God, love, you have survived so much. I am so proud of you for telling me and for getting help too. Never, ever doubt that.” 

Ianto blinked rapidly, trying to keep his composure. Having it out in the middle of a coffee shop was a stupid idea, he thought regretfully, because he was pretty sure he could do with a good cry right now. 

“Thanks,” he whispered into her greying hair, his voice hoarse. “But I’m going to be okay now. I swear.” 

“You will,” she said simply. “And I will keep being here for you, for as long as you need it.” 

* * *

_Ianto, you shouldn’t have! When Mum said you’d bought the kids a gift, I didn’t think you’d gotten them a bloody games console; I know how much they cost! Johnny and I couldn’t afford that together, you really - Christ. Thank you so much. David’s bloody thrilled. Says you should come round and play with him some day._

Ianto watched the waters of Mermaid Quay churn ominously, his fingers flexing on the railing. He resisted the urge to scratch at the nicotine patch on his inner arm. Jack had walked in on him applying it this morning, and offered him an approving nod and a smile that made Ianto weak at the knees. 

_Bad idea_ , he reminded himself, fingering the engagement ring he’d wedged onto his pinky. 

“You would like them all, I think, but you’d have eaten Owen alive,” he said. “Jack too. Wish I could have seen it. Big strong ex-soldier cowering from tiny little Lisa Hallett.” 

The wind was cold and biting, and he shivered. “You’d be proud of me, I think. Not just because I shagged him, but you’d have been proud of that too,” he continued, smiling softly as the diamond glinted in the weak November sunlight. 

A seagull cawed overhead, and a gust of that icy wind buffeted him as a cloud blocked out the sun.

“I’m...doing better, I think. Some days it’s worse than others. But I’m trying, Lisa. I really am.” He took a deep breath, blinking back the tears that pricked at his eyes, and told himself it was the wind. “I...I miss you so much.”

There was nothing but the sounds of the water and the birds for a while, and further away, the hustle and bustle of central Cardiff.

“But you would want me to live my life,” he said to the ghost of the girl he still loved. “And if I can’t do it for myself, I need to do it for you.” He freed the ring from his finger, holding it in his palm for a second. “You’d kill me if I threw away money like this though, so I’m going to give it to Rhi to hold onto. For when Mica is old enough. She can use it to help pay for uni or something.”

He tucked the ring back in his pocket and brushed up against the pack of cigarettes he still carried.

“Goodbye, Lisa,” he whispered, and let the wind carry it away, hopefully to wherever she was. “Give Yvonne hell for me.” 

His headset beeped. _“Sorry to cut your break short, Ianto, but we’ve had a double murder, and the police have contacted us by name, so we need you to hold down the fort.”_

He tapped it to respond. “Of course, sir. Do you need me on comms?” 

_“If you don’t mind - Oh, UNIT might call so-”_

“I’ll deal with them.” He rolled his eyes

_“You’re a star. Remind me to give you a pay rise.”_ With that, Jack signed off. 

Ianto headed back to the tourist office, already setting himself up for a long, boring, and not particularly productive phone call, but he stopped at the rubbish bin just outside the Tourist Office, and contemplated it for a moment, before reaching for the cigarettes and tossing them in. 

It was a start.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [blind eyes could blaze like meteors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28561032) by [someawkwardprose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someawkwardprose/pseuds/someawkwardprose)




End file.
